Disclaimer: I own nothing except my OC and my elements of the plot. Everything else belongs to George R. R. Martin.
Winters were always quiet. In the seemingly endless nights, snow swept across cities and towns and countryside alike, making each nearly indistinguishable from the next. A white blanket muffled the world. Some swore that the world ended during those long, silent nights.
On one such night, though the world outside was deathly quiet, a small hut in Widow's Watch was filled with the cries of a dreaming child. His shouts woke his mother, who lit a candle and shook him from his sleep.
"Aedon, my sweet, wake up," she whispered frantically. "Are you alright? What's wrong?"
"The dragon, mama!" The child screamed, halfway between asleep and awake. "The dragon, it wants out, it wants to fly and it can't fly! It's so cold, mama! So cold... It hurts!"
A wave of dread crashed over the mother. "You need to wake up, Aedon. Push the dragon away. He does not belong in your dreams." She pulled the boy close to her chest, rocking him out of his nightmare. The family's curse, which had plagued her father and her grandmother, now pained her son. And there was nothing she could do about it. May the gods damn the name Blackfyre.